


when all I know is your sweet embrace

by hopefulbastard



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: 3+1 trope, Astronomy, But I Love Them, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, Getting Together, Holding Hands, Jaskier complains so much, M/M, My First Fanfic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sharing a Bed, Stargazing, cause I got four chapters for this baby, feedback is very welcome, for future chapters:, like he's a whiny bitch, my friend is making me do this, this is soft and I'm soft, whoo?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22258282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopefulbastard/pseuds/hopefulbastard
Summary: three times Jaskier slept underneath the night sky and one time he didn’t.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 15
Kudos: 145





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GalaxyQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyQueen/gifts).



When sleeping in the wild was still new for Jaskier, every gust of wind stirring him from his rest, Geralt’s presence would come to bring him some form of much needed comfort. On the nights where the new moon left the camp too dimly lit for Jaskier’s eyes to sense anything at all, he found that the slow, steady breathing of Geralt’s meditation which he had come to know well gave him a sense of relief, easing just some of his many anxieties. It was an ever-present comfort, and the Gods knew he needed just that.

It was no surprise when he once again awoke on such a night, his senses coming back to him at first slowly and then all at once. The fire Geralt so generously had started had long ago burned, barely the smouldering embers left behind, a soft sigh falling from his lips as he rolled over, determined to fall back asleep. But no sleep came for him, his mind troubled and as restless as the breeze, making the forest seem even more alive with the rustling of leaves and grass, not even the methodical breathing of his travel companion or the comfort of his still sleep-warm blankets enough to lull him back to sleep, and the next sigh to leave him was one of exasperation.  
There was a brief struggle of tossing and turning before he pulled his blankets half off of him, being hit with the almost unpleasantly cold night air.

“Geralt,”

His voice was so overwhelmingly loud in the stillness of the night, and Jaskier had to suppress and involuntary jerk from rippling through his body. His eyes open, he looked in the general direction of where he knew Geralt to be, the stars above not providing his human eyes much besides the outline of Geralt’s meditating form. But at his words, the man stirred, and Jaskier breathed a soft sigh of relief, not as much from the rustle of movement but more so from the affirmative ‘hmm’ he got from the darkness.

After several beats of silence from Jaskier, he sighed, leaning his head back to rest against his sleeping mat.

“Can’t sleep,” he simply muttered, wrapping the blankets back around him when the before refreshing breeze was quickly turning cold. When his words were this time met with silence, he simply kept going. “You see, I was having a very lovely dream actually and I am very upset to be awoken at this time of the day… night,” Jaskier barely stopped his stream of words to roll over onto his stomach, wrapping his blankets around himself in what could only be described as a blanket cocoon, resting his forehead against the bedroll. “I mean, Geralt, what time is it even? No time to be awake is what it is indeed, and yet I can’t seem to fall back asleep. Of all the magnificent things I could be doing I am awake, here, in a freezing,”

Jaskier didn’t stop his rambling even at the several insistent ‘ _Jaskier_ ’s coming from the other side of the now burned out fire, turning over onto his side instead to continue talking. He kept the blankets wrapped tightly around him, kicking out with his legs to try and find a comfortable position.

“Cold,”

He curled his legs up around himself, tucking his face against his knees and making a sour face in the general direction of the Witcher’s spot on the other side of the campfire (Geralt would later note that the bard’s sour looks had been aimed more at an innocent shrub than the Witcher).

“Hard ground,” he concluded his sentence with a dramatic sigh, closing his eyes adamantly again. “It is simply-”

Jaskier’s rambling was interrupted by his surprised yelp when a hand at the back of his sleep shirt hauled him off of the ground, the blankets he had wrapped tightly around himself falling to his shoulders. Geralt easily manhandled him into a standing position, Jaskier’s knees almost giving out underneath him from the quick change of position. He had to involuntarily put a hand against Geralt’s arm to steady himself, the world spinning around him for several moments too long for comfort. But even the dizziness didn’t halter the bard’s words.

“What the _fuck_ , Geralt?” He exclaimed, his hand leaving Geralt’s arm to instead pull his blankets tighter around himself, clinging to the warmth they provided in the freezing night air.

“Get dressed. We’re walking.” At that, the Witcher’s presence left his space as quickly as it had entered it, leaving Jaskier sputtering his complaints to the thin night air.

“Walking?” His complaints rung loudly in the still forest. “Geralt, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it is _the middle_ of the _night_!”

“Hmm,” was the response from across the camp, earning Geralt another sour face from his bard. Another several beats of silence went by, only interrupted by Jaskier’s insistent complaints.

“Have you gone mad?”

He let out a high pitched shriek (and they would later argue just how high pitched, with Geralt comparing it to that of a little girl, while Jaskier was adamant that it was quite manly and Geralt was just being mean) when the blankets tucked around him were pulled away. He was about to complain again when the air was knocked from his lungs, letting out an involuntary huff as his bag hit him square in the chest, fumbling to catch onto it before it clattered to the ground.

“ _Geralt!_ ”

“It’s almost dawn,” Geralt spoke bluntly, though he knew it was a lie, already packing up his stuff, soon followed by the bard’s scarce belongings. “And you won’t shut up. So, we’re walking.”  
If Geralt was a man of more words, he might have gone on several tangents about his reasons for dragging the bard along with him so long before the break of dawn. He might’ve said he was simply tired of the bard’s complaints, that there’s no need to stick around if Jaskier wasn’t going to sleep. But he wasn’t.

Instead he packed the bard’s belongings for him, pulling Jaskier’s sleeping mat from underneath him with a pointed ‘ _Jaskier_ ’ when he was too slow to go get dressed, only acknowledging the bards protests with an indifferent ‘hmm’ at his continued sputtering, even as the younger man buttoned up his coat (a thick winter coat, suited for the colder weather in the Northern regions of the land. Geralt had fought with Jaskier for 5 long days to get him to wear it. The bard argued that it was unflattering, but Geralt had argued that pneumonia was far more unflattering. Geralt won in the end).

Geralt finished packing up camp before Jaskier was even fully dressed, Geralt’s silent amusement to the bard’s horrible case of bedhead while he helped Jaskier put on his bag, despite the bard’s countless protests, going right over his head.

“I can manage just fine on my own, Geralt.”

“Your fingers are freezing, just let me fucking do it,”

It still didn’t stop Jaskier’s quiet protests as Geralt with gentle hands smoothed out the bard’s clothes, making sure he had all his belongings. Even through the entire thing, the neutral expression didn’t leave the Witcher’s face. And even though Jaskier did try to keep up his sour expression, it was simply too much work. He instead went back to talking, his complaints soon turning into his usual rambling, occupying himself with trying to warm his hands in his armpits while Geralt effortlessly lifted the bag that troubled the bard so much onto his shoulders.  
And though neither spoke a word of it, Jaskier was grateful.

They walked a long time before the dawn broke.


	2. ii.

Once sleeping in the wild became second nature for Jaskier, he found he woke less frequently. But there were still nights, when the weather was just a little too cold, a little too warm, when the usually quiet forest around them seemed to come to life with sound, and the bard would once again find himself spending restless nights underneath the night sky.  
The weather had taken a warmer turn recently, spring had sprung several moons ago, and it was on this night that Jaskier felt himself unable to sleep.

The bard pressed the palms of his hands against his eyelids with a sigh, not stopping until long after colours had started blooming behind his eyes, getting lost in the gyroscope of colours the darkness provided him with. When he did remove his hands, he spent several minutes just blinking up at the night sky, waiting for the spots of colour to leave his vision again.  
After the walking incident, he had gotten used to the sleepless nights. And while he still sometimes found himself tossing and turning throughout them, he had found lying and looking at the stars to be a better alternative than whatever plans he found Geralt would have when he voiced his problem. For this reason, the moon was high in the sky before he sat up, pulling his blankets over his shoulders and letting a soft breath escape from his lips, the closest to a complaint he had let slip that night.

The moonlight filled their little clearing with enough light that when Jaskier leaned his head against his hand, letting his gaze fall on the still meditating Geralt, he could easily see the rise and fall of the man’s chest with every slow, passing breath he took. Jaskier was content with just watching the man he took so much comfort in like this, being able to study the planes of his face in a way that would have Geralt threatening to leave him behind was he awake. The bard found a smile on his face at seeing how the tension, ever present in the bigger man’s shoulders by day, had faded away for the first time in what felt like an eternity. If Jaskier had anyone to explain it to, he’d almost say Geralt looked peaceful.  
He felt himself immersed in tracing the edges of the man’s jaw with his eyes, allowing himself to get lost in the lines of his unkempt beard, the hills and valleys of scars and the forehead creases, physical proof the man's constant tension, more addicting to Jaskier than any song he had ever sung or any colour to ever bloom behind his eyelids on a restless night. Frequently, especially recently, he found himself getting lost in looking at Geralt. He didn’t know what it was about the man, but he made Jaskier feel something, a feeling best described not at all or by the flutter of a bird's wings or the tides washing over the beach in the summer. It was addicting.

"Enjoying the view?”

Like so many times before, it caused a startle to shoot through the bard’s body when Geralt broke the silence, Jaskier quickly diverting his gaze when well known yellow eyes met his own. This time, it was the bard, at loss for witty remarks, who let out a quiet ‘hmm’, leaning back on his bedroll and directing his gaze towards the stars shining bright above. His previous appreciation for the moon's clear light in the clearing melted away, and he suddenly cursed her for shining so bright, pulling his blanket up over his face to hide the blush rapidly spreading on his face, way too clear for comfort in the pale moonlight. Jaskier would later realise that Geralt was probably able to hear his racing heartbeat a mile away.

“The stars are beautiful,” came the bard’s muffled voice from underneath his blanket. Maybe, the bard said to himself inside of his mind, if he stayed still enough, Geralt would let him lie there until dawn broke. Though unable to sleep, he knew he needed the rest.  
He wanted to say something, anything. But the tension he was creating with his silence seemed so thick that he'd need a butcher's knife to hack through, and when Geralt was involved, Jaskier's conversation skills seemed to be dulled down to a spoon barely sharp enough to cut water

“Yeah,” came Geralt’s voice after what felt like an eternity of tense silence from the bard. “Emreis’ Eye is clear tonight.”

Jaskier removed the blanket from his face with a little hesitation, propping himself up on an arm after even more hesitation to get a better view of the man on the other side of the campfire. But the snide remark about Geralt’s astrology knowledge died in his throat as quickly as it had come, replaced by a strangled noise he would later try to convince himself that Geralt hadn't heard, for his own sanity and pride.  
The Witcher was still sitting in his meditative pose, his hands in his lap and his legs crossed on the bed roll. But nothing could prepare Jaskier for the raw tidal wave of emotions that washed over him, leaving his body buzzing with a strange unexplainable energy, all the way to the very tips of his fingers, upon seeing Geralt’s head leaned back towards the night sky, the shining stars above them reflecting in his yellow eyes. It was only the fear of getting his head chopped off that kept Jaskier from blurting out the words that formed in his head, the words he never expected to think. Geralt was _beautiful_.  
He felt like he was drowning in a sea of emotions he had never even tried to comprehend before. And that was something that made Jaskier absolutely want to run for his dear life.

“Right there,” the bigger man prompted another few moments later, pointing upwards at a specific point while he turned his face towards Jaskier. Geralt’s eyebrows knitted together when his gaze once again met the bard’s, his hand lowering again as his expression settled back into something more neutral, almost defensive. But as the bard saw that he was quick to speak up, suppressing the waiver in his voice.

“You know a lot about astrology, Geralt?”

‘Hmm’ sounded the response from the Witcher, who once again nodded up towards the constellation. At the bard’s continued silence, Geralt took on his usual more neutral tone, in what Jaskier would later realise was offense. Geralt had been offended over his silence, a fact that would later stab at Jaskier's heart on another sleepless night.  
“Don’t be so surprised that I remember a folktale or two,” the man added. Jaskier forced himself to swallow a few times, pulling his blankets tighter around himself and shifting into a position not far off from Geralt’s meditative pose, crossing his legs on the bedroll and looking up towards the sky, trying his best to follow the direction of the nod. Several more seconds went by before Jaskier furrowed his eyebrows, looking towards the Witcher with a shrug.

“I don’t see any eye.” He felt that at least for now, packing up camp and walking wasn't on the table for the Witcher. So Jaskier let himself settle slightly into the conversation, trying to force the dry feeling in his mouth and the energy in his body down into a box he could file away for later and forget about for a while. Geralt let out a disgruntled sound, closer to a snort than a sigh, as he stood up. But just as Jaskier was about to beg for him to just go back to meditating, convinced he had been wrong and that the Witcher would refuse to let them stay at the camp until sunrise, preparing countless excuses and pleads in his head, a bedroll and a Witcher plopped down next to him. Jaskier’s previous tension turned into confusion, the pleads on his tongue turning into sputtering as Geralt settled next to him. Jaskier instantly noticed how the heat radiating off of the man made his space warm up as well, and it would later be a prime argument in having the man sleep closer to him during the colder months. ("You're like a moveable fireplace, Geralt, and I am very cold." "I don't know where you're going with this." "Just please sleep over here, I'm freezing so badly.")

“It’s right there,” Geralt said flatly, lifting his hand again to point out the constellation. Eight stars, one by one.

“Never even heard of it,” Jaskier said as he himself traced the constellation with an extended finger, his eyebrows furrowing. “But isn’t it named after Ciri’s-”

“Fergus var Emreis,” the taller man corrected the bard, his eyes never leaving the sky as he made himself comfortable next to Jaskier. “Ciri’s grandfather.”

Jaskier let out a thoughtful hum, lowering his hand only to jerk it away a little too quickly when it brushed the outside of Geralt’s leg next to him. Like the energy that still felt present in his entire body, he tried to file the involuntary blush spreading on his face into the same box marked with 'problems for later me'.

“Him I do remember," the younger nodded at his words, looking towards Geralt. "I do believe I know a lovely tune about his death, would you like to hear-”

Geralt had had his head turned towards the sky when Jaskier spoke, and the Witcher was what felt like millimetres from decking the bard when he pointed towards another constellation.

“That’s the Sword, right there.”

When Jaskier came back from ducking and fearing for his life, he turned his head at the man’s words, trying to squint his eyes to see what he was looking at. “With the Northern star at the top.”  
The bard felt like his brain was going to combust when Geralt grabbed hold of the back of his head after just moments of him looking at the night sky, steering the bard’s head towards the constellation in a manner that wasn't especially gentle or kind. But when Jaskier got over the initial shock, he saw it. And just as quickly as Geralt’s hand had been at the back of his neck, it was gone, leaving Jaskier's skin buzzing with electricity where their skin had met. Still, Jaskier found it in himself to raise a shaky hand and trace the constellation with his finger, earning an approving hum from Geralt.

“That's the one you’re having us follow?” The bards snarky, though shaking reply came when he lowered his hand again, daring to turn his head towards Geralt only after moving several inches backwards, out of the taller man's space.

“What do you take me for?” Geralt replied to the bard, meeting his eyes with a stern expression that had the bard questioning all his life choices up to this point. But just when Jaskier was about to apologise, the taller man spoke over him.  
“I’m having us follow that one,” the Witcher continued, his expression just as stern but his voice softer, pointing off somewhere in the sky that Jaskier couldn’t fully pinpoint. But he didn’t need to.

-

“What’s that one then?”

The moon sat higher in the sky by the time Jaskier found his head resting against Geralt’s arm, trying so hard to ignore how every single part of his body in contact with Geralt’s felt electrified.  
Jaskier might be an ocean of emotion, but Geralt was the one conducting electricity right through him.

“That’s the Cauldron.” Geralt barely even seemed to pay notice to how taut Jaskier was by his side, Geralt's eyes fixed on the sky above them even as Jaskier’s fell on the Witcher again. “It used to represent bad luck, but now it mainly represents witchcraft. The two outer stars shine the brightest when witches are afoot.” He moved his arm from Jaskier’s side to trace two stars, twinkling a little brighter than the rest, and the bard didn’t know if he was relieved or sad when Geralt lowered his hand again, only to put them together in front of him and leaving a little space between the two men.

“How do you know so much about astrology?” Jaskier asked softly a little later when he closed his eyes, leaning his head back against his bedroll. He tried to mimic the Witcher’s relaxed stance, folding his hands in front of him and slowing his breathing considerably, but the bard quickly found the pose to be too uncomfortable and he instead opted for curling up on his side, his breathing following as it returned to a somewhat normal human rhythm.

“People used to tell me prophecies all the time. Some things catch on eventually,” the taller man spoke, raising his eyebrows towards the man curled at his side. And though Geralt would once again deny it adamantly later, he was smiling softly at the way the bard’s hair was ruffled around his face. If the Witcher had any clue about how to use descriptive words, he might’ve called it cute.  
“Not that I’ve ever followed anyone's good advice,” he added, finding some sort of pride in the quiet chuckle that left Jaskier.

“If you weren’t such an inconsiderate ass, I probably wouldn’t believe you,” Jaskier’s quiet response came, burrowing his face in his blankets as he settled more comfortably next to Geralt.

“I knew you’d say that.”

“No, you didn’t?” Jaskier opened a half eye to look judgingly at Geralt, his eyebrow raised towards the taller man, his pout half hidden behing the blanket he had pulled up to his nose.

“I absolutely did,” Geralt proclaimed, raising his eyebrows and pointing off somewhere in the sky. “The Maiden’s southmost star is visible; it’s seriously written in the stars.”

“Is it also written in the stars that you’re an ass?” Came Jaskier’s yawned response, shaking his head and closing his eyes again.

“I’m not qualified enough to decipher that,” Geralt’s reply sounded, more of a hum as he revelled in the way Jaskier’s body sank into his bedroll. This time, no snarky remark came from the bard.  
He kept his hands in front of himself as he looked back up at the stars above them, lying there for a long time just to listen to Jaskier’s heartbeat as it slowed, the bard’s breathing evening out as he fell asleep. The moon was low in the sky before Geralt settled next to the smaller man, closing his eyes and for the first time in a very long time, finding himself falling asleep next to someone he found comfort in.

Above them, before the dawn broke, the stars and the moon cast an ethereal light over the resting men, the hills and valleys of their relaxed, sleeping faces glowing in the moonlight.  
And the Lute shone brighter in the sky than it had in centuries. Brighter than it ever would again. A promise. A fate.

In the morning, when Geralt woke just after the dawn, it was with Jaskier’s head on his shoulder and Jaskier’s hand resting lightly on his arm.  
Geralt kept still for longer than he’d ever admit to anyone in his life, just to feel the bard’s soft breath and the caress of his hair against his jaw. When he did finally move, it was quietly, softly as to not wake Jaskier, though the Witcher would like to believe that a hundred horses could trample their campsite and the sleeping man would remain just as peaceful in his rest.

He let Jaskier sleep while he packed up camp, falling into the habit he had acquired over the past few months of packing the bard’s scarce belongings into his bag. The sun was high in the sky before he stirred Jaskier with gentle hands, the bard’s soft protests not enough to stop the Witcher from lifting him into a sitting position, handing him his waterskin before he could ask him for it.  
Later, when they were back on the road walking, the sun settling into noon and the clearing where they had made camp far behind them, Jaskier raised his eyes to the sky with a chuckle.

“What’s the name of the constellation you’re having us follow?” The bard asked unprompted after a long stretch of Geralt’s silence, broken only by his own constant ramblings. The questions in turn broke Geralt out of a long stretch of tuning the bard out, instead turning his head back towards Jaskier with the traces of a smile on his face.

“We’re following the Worm.”

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfiction ever! Hope you enjoy, I will post updates as soon as I get to write them. Any and all feedback is very welcome.


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